


Doesn't Matter Who Gets Screwed

by Andrew___Help



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angel Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Angel Wings, Angst, Eating Disorders, Gen, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Main Character Dies (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29894598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrew___Help/pseuds/Andrew___Help
Summary: Stomach acid burns my throat. My wings are writhing in pain from the hooks. Just two more feet, and I'll be free of them. I gather enough strength to step again, again, and again. Four more... One more... It burns, but then a burst of warmth floods my back. They're gone.
Kudos: 7





	Doesn't Matter Who Gets Screwed

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of triggers. Please, please! Just look at the tags. 
> 
> Also, I apologise if this isn't the best. This is my first time writing actual gore.

* * *

I let out another cry of pain as my appendage goes down to the base of the final hook. Looking back, I see ichor turn the silver hooks into gold. I face forward and start to walk. The pain is so seering I could get high off it. Already, a fuzzy haze slips over my mind, but I pursue.

I need to remove it. I need to remove my sin, my filth. I can still catch the dripping sensation on my thighs. The absent ropes press against my unrestricted arms. My legs are steady on the ground, but my body says they are pulled over my head spread wide for him to see. I needn't look down to see the bruises and scratches that pulsated feverishly like my panicked veins.

Taking a deep breath, I push forward. My shoulders hurt the most. My first pair of wings right on top of the curved plain. In the Celestial Realm, they fold over my body to my front, hiding my torso. Now, they are stretching farther back than ever. I can tell my skin has already begun to tear. Muscle will soon follow. But, this is all I deserve.

Once again, I break my stride to think. What will Simeon do? Will Like see me? Does Barbatos already know? My chest heaves and heaves. It throbs. Not even my scars stung this much in the war, but I must persevere. This has always been what I deserved. For my wings to just tear off.

I continue. Brain and heart are knocking on my body, begging this to stop. I cannot. I will not open that door. I am staying locked in. This horrendous pain can't prevent me from my fate. I feel my lower left wing rip off with a terrible crackle of bone and the stabbing of unbelievable agony. Three more. Excitement floods my senses. Maybe this won't be too bad. Aaaahhhh, this is Paradise alright. Away from pleasure. Away from Father. Away from everything. I will die today, and there is nothing more pleasant than ripping these cursed limbs off. My halo would be shattered if I could do so. If I could, it would've been tossed to the ground to rust and rot long ago. I'd only put it back on when it looked coppery and wore a veil of vines.

A second wing twists off; this time, there is not nearly as much pain. My stomach growls and bars its teeth at me though. I'll die without food. A justified punishment. Rapidly, a structure of acidic liquid builds in my esophagus. It climbs to my mouth, and I sputter out the familiar mixture.

I breathe in and out. Air comes to me like a tidewave and then drags out quickly. Blood trickles out my nose and mouth. My voice is gone. The last words on my lips being a flutter of jumbled curses. My throbbing legs and arms plead for mercy. My back is ripped to shreads. Glancing back, I see my lower back is a graveyard of bone and feather. My shoulder blades are hacked bits of muscle. My missing top right wing left a large hole were it once resided. More bile pours out my mouth. Some manges to cling to my wounds and harrass my injuries. I want it to end. I need it to end. I nearly collapses in fear and pain as I follow my mission.

What harm is there in finishing this off? Terror grips my heart as one hook tears through the wing. I force myself to take a few steps back and repierce my body closer to the base. Oh my body aches, but still. I take minutes to get back to my previous position. It was never worth it. No, it is. Yes? No? Yes. Let me feel this pain to erase another. Washing over me is the forgotten memory of how violated I was. How much sleep I sacrificed to not wake up with my wings thrashing to-and-fro and my body weak. To not feel the stab between my legs. To not cry and let them hear me. How cruel. However, I must continue.

I do. Never before have I suffered as much as I do now. Stomach acid burns my throat. My wings are writhing in pain from the hooks. Just two more feet, and I'll be free of them. I gather enough strength to step again, again, and again. Four more... One more... It burns, but then a burst of warmth floods my ruined back. They're gone. Foreign white figures dance to the melody of my dropping body. In my ears, a familiar voice mocks and destroys my freedom.

I fly down from comfort and cry out for a final time. Blood comes spiralling up my throat and pools in my throat. The taste goes sweet and then is nothing. My eyes, fatigued and damaged, bid a long needed farewell to sight. The foul smell of victory fades into a distant memory. My back no longer ails me; its evil no longer plauging me and my hollow heart. Lastly, with a light ringing, my pounding ears surrender themselves to death. My only regret is not relenting sooner. Good riddance. Reciting a prayer without sound or movement, I acquiesce.

* * *

Simeon crumbles to the ground at the grotesque display before him. Luke follows suit, purging himself of all he had to eat. Violently twitching is a doll they once adored which from her lip spill a wordless vow that she was long ago supposed to sing. Gold blood seeps down in the floor and decorates the corpse's lament. Her angelic grace lingers indecisively. All her virtue spread behind her. Purity was the first to go. Then, humility wrenched itself free. Last to go were charity and diligence. Despair poisons the air and begins to twist and collect the dimming lights of both beings.


End file.
